Buzzard's Bluff

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Tell you the truth, Mr. Brown, I haven’t even thought about it. I’ve got a room in the saloon. I don’t know why Jim wanted one in the hotel. Maybe whatever drove Jim to need a place out of the saloon will drive me there, too. I’ll have to wait and see.”

  Freeman chuckled. “I reckon he just needed a little peace and quiet sometimes. Well, I just wanted to let you know I gave Jim a special rate. If you decide you need a room, too, I’ll give you the same rate.”

  “I ’preciate that, Mr. Brown,” Ben said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Please, call me Freeman. That’s what my friends call me, and I hope we’ll be friends, too.”

  “All right, Freeman. I don’t see why we wouldn’t be.”

  They were interrupted then by the arrival of Cindy with two heaping plates of beef stew and a plate with four biscuits on it. “I declare,” she said to Freeman. “I went to get your coffee, and clear forgot it. I’ll be right back.”

  “She’s a fine young lady,” Freeman said after she left, “a little bit scatterbrained sometimes, but what girl isn’t at that age?” There was a short period of silence while both men launched the initial attack on the plates of stew in front of them. After a few moments, Freeman resumed the conversation. “I heard about your rather rough welcome to town at the saloon today. And I think it would be remiss of me if I didn’t offer a word of caution. I don’t know if anybody told you, but the man you shot was one of the Double-D hands. And you’re gonna find out that the town has had its share of trouble from that bunch. A fellow by the name of Daniel Dalton owns the Double-D, and he’s never been one to keep a tight rein on his men. So it would be wise for you to keep a cautious eye about you just in case. You know what I mean?”

  “I think I do,” Ben answered. ’Preciate the warnin’.”

  Changing the subject slightly, Freeman, like Sheriff Bragg had, saw fit to tell him how competent Rachel Baskin had been in her role as manager of the Lost Coyote Saloon. “You’re mighty lucky to have had Rachel taking care of that place. She was running the saloon even before Jim Vickers died.”

  “That’s what the sheriff told me,” Ben replied. Unable to resist japing Freeman, he added, “I had a meeting with her earlier today and fired her from that job.” He saw the immediate results of his remark in Freeman’s face. Before Freeman could respond, he said, “I made her an equal partner in the Lost Coyote.” The hotel owner’s face, flushed moments before, relaxed to form a wide grin. Ben was beginning to think that his new business partner might be the most popular person in town.

  Freeman made it a point to tell him a lot more about the town and the people who had chosen to cast their lot on a settlement that grew from a trading post and a blacksmith to the bustling little town that it had become. “I’m sure all of us will give you our cooperation to help your business continue to be successful. Most of us hope you will run it the same way Jim did, and Rachel does now.”

  “I reckon we’ll see,” Ben said.

  Before they finished their supper, they were joined by another merchant, Cecil Howard, owner of Howard’s General Merchandise. Seeing Freeman sitting at the table with the newly arrived owner of the Lost Coyote, he walked over to meet Ben. “Rachel said I might find you here,” Cecil said. “I wanted to say hello and welcome to Buzzard’s Bluff before you met some of our lower-class citizens, but I see I’m too late.”

  Freeman snorted a chuckle in appreciation for Cecil’s attempt at humor. He turned to Ben and said, “You’da had to meet him sooner or later, Ben. This is Cecil Howard. He’s the mayor, and we’re all still trying to figure out how he ever got elected. Maybe it was out of respect for his patient wife, Sarah, who’s had to put up with him at home for a good many years.”

  “General store, right?” Ben asked as he shook hands with Cecil.

  “That’s right,” Cecil answered.

  “Ben just told me he’s made Rachel an equal partner in the Lost Coyote,” Freeman said. The statement brought a big smile to Cecil’s face.

  “I swear, that’s good news,” Cecil responded. “Maybe that means you’ll let it run the way it always has, ever since Jim Vickers built it. We’ve got the Golden Rail Saloon with all its gambling and whores, knifings and gunfights. We don’t need another one.”

  Ben understood now the compliments for Rachel Baskin from Bragg and Freeman. Evidently, Lost Coyote was the saloon of choice for the citizens of the town, while Golden Rail was the saloon that attracted drifters and troublemakers. “From what you’re tellin’ me, the Golden Rail is wide open and the place that attracts the kind of people that make trouble. Well, I found out the hard way that Lost Coyote attracts troublemakers, too. And we do have two prostitutes that I’ve met.”

  “Well, sure, Lost Coyote gets a few of the wrong kind of customers,” Cecil replied, “can’t avoid that—but not like Golden Rail. And Ruby and Clarice are just there for some of the men’s comfort. They’re there, if you need ’em, and good company when you’re drinking, but they ain’t like the brazen prostitutes at the Golden Rail.”

  They talked a while longer until finally Cecil said he had better go home before Sarah threw his supper out for the coyotes to feed on. Freeman got up when Ben did and insisted on paying for Ben’s supper. “It’s my pleasure,” he said, “now that I found out you ain’t thinking about turning the Lost Coyote into another sin den.”

  Lacy James met them on their way out. “Well, how was your supper, Ben Savage?” He allowed that it was as good as advertised, and she would definitely see him in there again. He said goodnight to them all and took his leave, desiring to take a little walk around town before returning to the Lost Coyote. Outside, he paused to strap on his gun belt and exhaled a couple of deep breaths to expel the heavy air inside his lungs and replace it with clear evening air. As he walked the already deserted main street, he found it strange to believe he had actually decided to keep the saloon and try to run it. I might change my mind in the morning, he thought, knowing there was no harm done. As far as Captain Mitchell knew, he was still a Ranger just taking a short leave of absence. Thoughts of Captain Mitchell led to thoughts of Billy Turner, which prompted him to reassure himself that it was time to quit the Rangers. Thanks to Jim Vickers, he could walk away from Texas law enforcement, a job he had never cared for, but one of the few he was qualified to do. Instead of waiting until he was too old to cut it and forced to retire, he could walk right into ownership of a going business. Thanks to the management skills of Rachel Baskin, he quickly reminded himself, having already been informed of this three times.

  When he came to the blacksmith’s shop, he decided he would take Cousin in after breakfast in the morning. It was time to have the big dun fitted with some new shoes. He wasn’t really looking forward to the everyday business of running a saloon, so he decided he was every bit as glad as Freeman and the others to have Rachel Baskin to oversee the daily operation of it. When he got back to the Lost Coyote, he went inside to find a moderate collection of customers. He imagined he could feel every eye in the place on the new owner. Seeing Rachel standing at the far end of the bar, he made his way back to join her. “Don’t you go for supper?” he asked.

  “Sometimes,” she answered. “Most of the time, I like to be here to judge the evening crowd and see if everything’s running smoothly.” She smiled at him when he looked as if about to question. “Everything seems to be going fine this evening.” She could see that he was at a loss, thinking he should be doing something to help her, but without the slightest notion as to what that might be. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing you need to be doing. And don’t think I’m going hungry. I went into the kitchen a little while before you came in and made myself some coffee and ate a cold biscuit with it.”

  “Do we ever close?” He had to ask.

  She laughed. “Yes, we usually close at one o’clock in the morning. Sometimes there may be one or two customers that would stay all night, if we’d let them. And sometimes we’ll let a poker game go on p
ast that time, if it’s big enough to sell a lot of whiskey. But most of the time we close the doors at one. Our regular customers are used to that, and most of them don’t stay that late, anyway.” She watched his reaction to everything she told him and figured he would be no more help than Jim had been. She preferred it that way. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll take care of everything. Right now, how about a drink to celebrate our first day in business as partners?”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” he agreed at once, thinking of a long road ahead before he would ever feel comfortable in his new role.

  “Tiny,” she said, “let’s have a couple of glasses and hand me a bottle of the good stuff. Get a glass for yourself and join us in a toast to the new partnership.” She took a quick glance at Ben for his okay.

  “Right,” Ben said. “Join us, Tiny.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Tiny replied, and filled three shot glasses with the expensive whiskey. They drank to the health of the Lost Coyote.

  From that moment on, there was a sense of loyalty of purpose. Tiny picked up the three glasses and dropped them in the bucket of rinse water he kept under the bar. Then he took a long look at the two of them and decided this was going to be a good thing, as long as Ben was smart enough to stay out of Rachel’s way. And Tiny thought he was.

  As Rachel had predicted, the crowd began to thin out well before the midnight hour, and when the clock behind the bar struck one o’clock, there were only two customers to be escorted to the front door. Ben retired for the night in the room where his benefactor Jim Vickers had slept, wondering what time he would wake up in the morning, since he was in the habit of going to bed hours before one o’clock.

  CHAPTER 6

  He surprised himself the next morning, waking up close to his usual time of five-thirty, even though he had gone to bed later than normal. He guessed it was because he had spent more time on a horse, in a hurry to get someplace else for so many years. He climbed into his clothes, pulled his boots on, and picked up his gun belt, then he hesitated. As a reputable businessman now, would it be proper for him to wear a Colt six-gun? Undecided, he put the weapon back on the chair and opened the door. Even though he had a hankering to try breakfast at the hotel, since his supper had been so good, he thought it might be better if he had breakfast in the saloon. He didn’t want to start off his first morning by insulting Annie Grey, his cook. So he stepped out into the back hall, but he stopped before closing his door. The long hall was still dark at this time of day, one window the only light. He just didn’t feel right. It had been too many years, so he went back inside his room, picked up his gun belt, and slapped it around his hips. Feeling dressed now, he went back into the hallway and started toward the kitchen.

  It seemed awfully quiet, and it occurred to him that he didn’t hear a sound inside the saloon save that of his boots on the hardwood floor as he strode toward the kitchen door. At five-thirty, there should be sounds of Annie in the kitchen, but he heard no such sounds. Thinking he must have forgotten to wind his watch, he pulled it out, held it up to the window, and gave it another look. It was still running. He walked into the kitchen to find no one there, and the room almost as dark as the hallway. The big iron stove still felt warm from the night before, so he figured he might as well get it going again while there were still some live ashes left. Looking around the stove, he spotted a basket of kindling, next to a stack of firewood close to the outside door.

  In a short time, he had a fire going and the stove began to heat up. Satisfied with that, he picked up the big gray coffeepot on the edge of the stove and walked out the back door to the pump. He was in the process of filling the pot with water when he became aware of someone standing behind him in the doorway. When he turned to see who it was, he found himself confronted by an obviously surprised Annie Grey. “Good mornin’,” he greeted her. “I was startin’ to worry about you.”

  “Why?” she asked, still astonished to find him stumbling around her kitchen at this early hour.

  “’Cause it’s gettin’ pretty late and you weren’t here, so I figured I’d best get a fire goin’ in your stove.”

  “Why?” she asked again, waiting for an answer that made sense to her. When he failed to answer right away, she asked, “Have you been wanderin’ around the saloon all night?” He said that he had just gotten up. She realized then what his problem was. “I ain’t late,” she said. “I reckon you’ll have to get used to a new schedule.” Then she thought to say, “Unless you change it—you bein’ the owner and all. But ain’t nobody gets up early in the saloon ’cause they stay up so late before closin’. Rachel don’t usually open up till eight-thirty or nine. There ain’t no need to because there ain’t no customers that early, except one or two drunks and they’ll sleep on the porch till the doors open.”

  “I reckon I just never thought about it like that,” Ben confessed. “I thought you’d already be out here rustlin’ up breakfast, and I was sleepin’ late.”

  She smiled at him and admitted that she was a little earlier than usual this morning, primarily because she wanted to be sure not to be late on the first morning the new owner was there. “I usually have something cooked up around seven-thirty. That’s the time when Rachel usually has her breakfast. But hand me that coffeepot and I’ll fix you up with something in a jiffy. You’ll have to wait a little while for the biscuits to bake, but I’ll fry you up some eggs and bacon. All right?”

  “I don’t wanna trouble you,” he said. “I can wait for your usual breakfast time.”

  “No trouble a-tall,” she said, “just have to wait for my pan to get hot. Shouldn’t take too long, since you’ve already got my stove going.”

  He had to wonder if their breakfast hour played any part in Jim Vickers’s keeping a room in the hotel and eating breakfast in the hotel dining room. He felt sure the hotel dining room opened by six o’clock every morning. “If you’re sure it won’t upset your routine, I’d be obliged.” A thought occurred to him then. “Don’t often find a saloon that offers fresh eggs. Where do you get ’em?”

  “Same place we get the bacon,” Annie answered, “my husband, Johnny. I brought four dozen fresh eggs with me this morning.”

  By the time the coffee was ready, the stove was plenty hot enough to cook his eggs and bacon. Ben sat at the table and talked to Annie while she prepared her kitchen for the day after she set his breakfast before him. He figured it a good time to get to know her, so he wasn’t in a hurry, although he planned to go to the stable to take Cousin to the blacksmith for shoes. As the clock on the wall inched up closer to six-thirty, she seemed to be concerned, for she took frequent glances at it. He soon realized what caused her apparent nervousness when he heard the back door open and a man walked in shortly before seven. Seeing Ben seated at the kitchen table, the man hesitated before coming on in. When he stood there for a long moment, Annie said, “Oh, come on in, Johnny, and say hello to the new owner.” Back to Ben, she said, “This is my husband. He usually eats his breakfast here. I hope that ain’t a problem. Johnny, this is Mr. Ben Savage.” Looking at Ben again, she said, “Rachel knows Johnny eats here in the morning. Half the time, she shows up for breakfast before he finishes, but if it’s a problem . . .”

  “It ain’t a problem for me, unless he expects me to cook it for him,” Ben interrupted. “Come on in, Johnny, and sit down. Your wife and Rachel are tryin’ to break me in as a co-owner of the Lost Coyote. Right now, everything depends on whether or not those biscuits are fit to eat. And I think she was just fixin’ to take’em outta the oven when you came in. So you can help me judge ’em.”

  Johnny laughed good-naturedly. “Well, I can already tell you I guarantee ’em to be the best you’ll find in the whole state of Texas.” He could tell from the first that he was going to like Ben Savage, having expected someone completely different. When Annie had told him about the reactions of the man when threatened by one of the Double-D riders, he had pictured a deadly steely-eyed gunman. He had wondered if
the Lost Coyote was going to be competing with the Golden Rail for all the troublemakers that chanced to drift through town. After talking to Ben for a little while, he was convinced that the new owner was focused more on not losing the present business attitude.

  By the time they were eating hot biscuits, Rachel appeared. “Looks like I’m late for the party,” she said upon finding Ben and Johnny still at the table. “Morning, Johnny. I see you’ve met the new owner.” He returned her greeting. “Morning, Ben,” she said then. “You were looking so sleepy by the time we closed last night, I thought we wouldn’t see you until noon.”

  “He had a fire in the stove and was making a pot of coffee when I got here this morning,” Annie informed her.

  “I’m gonna have to reset the clock inside my head,” Ben said, “so I ain’t in Annie’s way every mornin’.” Annie was quick to state that he was welcome to fire up her stove and start the coffee every morning, if he wanted to. “Right now, I reckon I’ll walk up to the stable and take my horse to the blacksmith. I understand he’s good at shoein’ horses.”

  “That he is,” Johnny remarked. “Jim Bowden, he’ll treat you right.”

  * * *

  “Mornin’,” Bowden offered cautiously when Ben walked up to his shop, leading Cousin. Like Johnny Grey and everyone else in Buzzard’s Bluff, Bowden had heard about the confrontation in the Lost Coyote and had formed the same picture as Johnny had. The size and intimidating bearing of the man seemed to enhance that image.

  “Mornin’,” Ben returned. “I think Cousin, here, is about ready for some new shoes. Accordin’ to what Johnny Grey says, you’ll do a good job at a fair price. Is that about right?”

  Bowden laughed. “I reckon it is, if Johnny says so. Jim Bowden’s my name, and I’d be glad to take a look at him.”